A Perfect Day
by SovietChick
Summary: A worn out plot, but Germany seeks advice from Russia after WWII. RusGer, human names used.


A perfect day.

The sun shines down frown a cloudless sky, a light breeze tossing the heads thousands of sunflowers in a late summer dance.

Two men sit inside the bright sunroom of a large Russian mansion. One admires the sunflower, the other admires his beer.

"Russia…" the older reluctantly tears his gaze from the flowers he loves; he knows they'll begin to die in a couple of weeks, and he needs the memory of sunflowers to keep him warm in the long winter months. He turns o his companion, taking careful note of the bloodshot cerulean eyes, the ruffled military suit, the maddened, dazed look in the other's gaze.

Ludwig stares back him. His normally tidy hair is messy, several blonde locks falling into his pale face.

"Help me." He clutches onto his beer mug like it's a life preserver, refusing to unclench his calloused hands. "I haven't had any sleep since those damned wars ended. All those_ people_… Every time I close my eyes, I see them. I can't get them to stop _**screaming**__._" His voice breaks on the last word. He gulps several times, attempting to regain his shattered composure while his companion waits in silence.

Ivan merely smiles at him with his mask; that small, innocent smile. His emotions are even hidden from his eyes, those twin violet pools that sparkle dully in the bright sunlight. He continues to wait, and the man begins again.

"Feliciano doesn't understand. It's all 'Ve~' and 'What's wrong Doitsu?' I've killed millions of children, for god's sake!" he spat bitterly. "How am I supposed to make him realize what's wrong? I can't take it anymore!"

"So you came to me?"" Ludwig suddenly realizes how Ivan had stiffened at the name of the carefree Mediterranean country, those eerie violet eyes growing all the more faraway. He regrets using the name of his former ally, but it is too late now. He almost laughs at that. How long has his life been made up of 'too late now's?

"Ja." He says, giving a short nod. "Ivan… No one else understands. The others hate me, but they have no idea what I've been though. But you… You've seen it all, done it all. How do you deal?" He stares beseechingly at the man across from him, searching for answers in that perfect, pale face. He found none.

"Do not worry, Comrade." The Russian returns his gaze to the sunflowers, as if he's unable to bear the sight of his companion any longer. "Time heal all wounds. Eventually the others will forgive, and the faces will blur so you can't remember who you're really killed and who you've dreamed up." He kept smiling. He looks innocent, happy, content… But Ludwig knew better…

Ivan glances at him, that smile growing colder, more forced.

"And when that happens, I'm sure you'll be able to face you little Italy, da?" He returns his gaze to the precious flowers as if everything's all right.

"..." Ah, so that what was worrying him…

"Ivan." The Russian did stir. "Ivan." No movement. "Ivan, look at me." He slowly turns his gaze to the German, his mask finally fallen. His amethyst eyes boil with anger, sadness, the ancient turmoil in his soul. His smile was finally wiped away.

'_What a pair we make!_' It occurs to Ludwig. '_Two broken men trying to fix eachother!_'

"I don't want to face Italy." He says quietly. "I want to stay with you."

The cold, unchanged look on his lover's face was beginning to frustrate him.

"Can't we just go back to the way we were?" he bursts. "Before those stupid wars… Before Italy and the Baltic States… Can't go back?" He stares hopelessly at Russia, eyes filled with desperation.

Ivan smiles; a wry, bitter smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Nyet. Ludwig, you know as well as I do that there's no turning back. There's no redo button for us nations, you have to survive, kill if you must and move on with your life. Do you think I've stayed alive all these years through being **nice**?" He gives a bitter laugh. "Save the compassion for times of peace, when your boss isn't insane and all the nations aren't either with you or against you."

The room falls into silence.

Ivan stares outside, longing for the fields of sunflowers, vast and as fluid as the sea, that stretched before him.

The only sounds were the tumble of birdsong and some distant, faraway windchimes. Russia idly wondered if the chimes were real or just a figment of his imagination.

"When did you say the faces went away?" Came a quiet voice. He turns slightly and sees Ludwig hunched over the coffee table, staring into his beer mug as if he wished to jump into it.

Ivan smiles. He doesn't have the heart to tell him that the memories never faded, that to this very day he could still list off every single person he had ever killed and how. He still had screams ringing eternally in his ears.

"Soon, my comrade. Soon."

He leans forward, reaching and gently cradling the other's face in his rough hands. Ludwig stares at him, eyes holding a silent plea. Ivan examines those bloodshot eyes, seeing the broken soul held within. He slowly leans forward, eyes closing on the world…

And so they kissed, hearts pounding in perfect harmony.

Hearts not of the pure, innocent child, but scarred, darkened; the torn hearts of veterans.

Hearts that would keep beating as the days turned to months, the months to years, and the years into centuries.

Hearts would only stop when the world crumbles to ash.

The hearts of nations.


End file.
